


Try to Change the Game

by reserve



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Gay Porn Hard, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Madison, Skype Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-02 00:03:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4039756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reserve/pseuds/reserve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Relegated to Buffalo after the Great Drunken Campus Tour of 2012, Patrick has to ask permission before doing... just about everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Try to Change the Game

**Author's Note:**

  * For [robokittens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/robokittens/gifts), [seducerhymeswithdeduce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seducerhymeswithdeduce/gifts).



> One thousand thanks to [Megan](http://archiveofourown.org/users/seducerhymeswithdeduce), who fed me some of the best lines for this, and is an absolute joy to bounce ideas off of. This story actually fits into a larger D/s universe that we've been working on for months. More to come, I'm sure. 
> 
> Written for [demotu](http://demotu.tumblr.com/)'s [Gay Porn Hard](http://demotu.tumblr.com/post/120211597611/game-7-gay-porn-hard) challenge for game seven of the WCF. Go Hawks!

Jonny had told him to ask permission before he did anything that might, quote, wind up on _Deadspin_. Trouble was, Patrick could never be sure what was going to get him in trouble next. He was like a tumbleweed, by his own estimation, and sometimes trouble blew into town unexpectedly and simply swept him up. 

As a precaution, and because he felt emphatically that if anyone was going to save him from the (albeit unlikely) fate of being traded to 'yotes or something, it would be Jonny, Patrick started asking him before doing just about everything.

("Cool if I eat a sub?"

"Whole wheat roll, no mayo. 

"Aww, c'mon—"

"Kaner.")

And Jonny had...taken to it. But there were some things, _important_ things, that he couldn't bring himself to ask about. And even though Patrick been raised in a locker room and his second language was basically dick jokes, some things crossed the line. He hadn't jerked off in _days_ and it had become a Thing. He had never meant for it to go this far, and he wasn't about to ask if he could rub one out, but he was dying here. 

At first he was kind of just...too depressed to think about his dick. After getting back to Buffalo and spending a few days knocking around his big empty house, and knocking around his parents' house, and annoying his sisters by forcing them to have a Bradley Cooper double-header with him (ok, so maybe it was _The Hangover_ parts 1 and 2, but relevant, thank you very much), he'd kind of...lost the urge? And Patrick had read about this sort of thing: alcohol and being sad and hating yourself could totally do a number on your junk! So he didn't think about it all that hard, he just waved goodbye to boners for the time being and assumed they'd be back at some point.

And come back they did.

Except. 

By the time he was chubbing up on the regular again it was two weeks in to his Western New York exile and he was super deep in the whole ask permission thing. Like, at first it was annoying because Jonny's annoying, but then it started to feel kind of nice. Every somewhat suspect choice he might make was either validated or denied by someone whose opinion he valued. It took the pressure off. It made Patrick feel weirdly safe, kind of like a little kid, but in a good way. In a cared for way. 

Obviously Jonny noticed he was off; that Patrick's delicate ecosystem was out of whack. Because Jonny noticed everything and as captain it was kind of his job. So really Patrick should have seen this coming. He just didn't expect it to happen on a Tuesday, while he was sullenly laying around on his couch and considering what mundane, Toews-approved activity he could waste away his time with. At least talking to Jonny on the phone was pretty ok. It was cool that Jonny checked in. They'd kind of gotten into the habit of talking most days when Jonny was out with his concussion and it stuck. 

"So what are your plans for today?" Jonny asked, genuine interest in his voice. 

"Dunno, maybe go for a swim."

"That's cool. Don't eat beforehand, though."

"Everyone knows that," Patrick said. 

"Yeah, well, better safe than—"

"Blah, blah, I _know_." Patrick grimaced. His backtalk levels had been off the charts without the tempering factor of orgasms. 

Jonny grunted on the other end of line. 

“Sorry,” Patrick apologized and it sounded just as snotty. 

There was a long pause and then Jonny said, “what is up with you today?” And fuck, but Patrick felt shitty at the concern tinged with annoyance in Jonny’s tone. It wasn’t Jonny’s fault he’d gotten into some fucked up masturbation rut. It wasn’t Jonny’s fault that he had apparently become a freak who needed, like, a written invitation to jerk off. 

“Nothing,” Patrick said. Totally defensive. 

“No, seriously man. What the hell? You’ve been…” 

Patrick got the sense that Jonny was literally consulting a calendar, maybe ticking off the days on his fingers. 

“You’ve been like, really weird for six days now. Well, weirder than normal. Weird for you.” 

“I’m not weird.” 

“You’re weird. Now spill." 

“No.” 

“Peeksy,” Jonny said meaningfully. _Ugh_. The nickname always got him right where it counted. Patrick started to fidget, but he could hold out. Hell, he could hold out for the rest of the summer if he had to. He was a highly conditioned professional athlete; control and sacrifice were his mother’s milk. 

“Did you fuck up?” Jonny said, real low. Accusatory. “What did you do?” 

 _Balls_.  

“I swear to God, Kaner, if the internet knows what you did before I do I’m going to fly to Buffalo and kick your ass all the way to Montreal, I swear, you little—”

 _Shit_.   

Patrick took a deep breath.

“I haven’t done anything.” 

“So?”

“Jesus fuck, Jonny. I just. I haven’t come in like two weeks, dude. Ok? Alright? I’m just a little on edge here.” 

"Oh.” 

Then total silence. Patrick’s breath was too loud. He felt tears pricking at corners of his eyes.

"Uh…," said Jonny, finally. “Um. Do I need to set up a doctor’s appointment for you? That can’t be healthy, man."  
  
Patrick pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fuck. For fuck's…fuck."  
  
"Pat?"  
  
It couldn’t get much worse, right? Deep breaths. 

“I-haven’t-come-because-you-haven’t-given-me-permission-and-I-didn’t-want-to-ask-because-fuck-like-I’m-a-freak-okay? Fuck.” 

"Oh," Jonny said. 

Patrick's lip curled up. He was legit disgusted with himself, but like, he had never done stuff halfway. He drank to get drunk. He played to win. He obeyed to fucking obey if that’s what was on the menu and not, like, totally cramping his style. And this was, this whole thing with Jonny was absolutely cramping his style, but it was kind of satisfying, too: having to think about all of his choices, and push himself, and hold off, and hold back. It was satisfying in the most frustrating way. 

“I need permission,” he said through gritted teeth. “Like with everything else.” 

And just the thought of Jonny giving him permission had him rock hard, horrifyingly aroused. But whatever, it wasn’t like _Jonny_ was the reason he was suddenly gagging for it. He hadn't come in almost two weeks (and the weepy orgasms he'd eked out of himself when he first got home didn’t count because they were _miserable_ ). And that was the longest he'd gone since tenth grade when he and his buddies dared each other to see who could go the longest without beating one out. He’d won, of fucking course.  
  
So it wasn’t Jonny. It wasn’t. And yet...

"So come," Jonny said, totally callous.  
  
Patrick actually whined. "C'mon man, it can't be like that."

"Can't be like what?"

"You gotta. I mean. You made a big deal out of it when I asked if I could have a couple beers the other night. You made me a training schedule. You.” His throat stuck when he swallowed. “You gotta..you know." Patrick tried, he really did, to convey what he needed through hand gestures and a mortified facial expression that Jonny couldn’t see and it wasn’t working. Of course it wasn’t working, but Tazer was only dense when he wanted to be.

“Hold on a sec,” Jonny said. Patrick heard the clunk as he put his cell phone down. 

“What do you mean, hold on a sec?Where’d you go? _Jonny_.” And he could hear Jonny moving around too, probably at his kitchen table or something. What in the hell could he possibly be doing? Patrick pressed the palm of his hand over his dick and straight up groaned. He was the worst. 

“Where are you?” Jonny asked, the second he picked up the phone again. 

“Huh?”

“Do you have your laptop?” 

“Yeah…” 

“Okay, good. We’re gonna Skype.” 

“What, no. That’s weird.” 

“Open up Skype, and wait for me to call,” Jonny said slowly. “Do it. I’m going to hang up now.” 

And he did. He hung up, and Patrick wanted to murder him. Patrick wanted to throw his cellphone across the room. So he did, and it hit the far window that looked out over the lake, and Patrick made a horrible meeping sound in spite of himself. His impulse control was awful. He placated himself by opening up his laptop, then he opened up Skype, and then the shitty little trilling sound let him know that Jonny was in fact calling him. He was definitely going to call this chapter of his life “My Summer of Weird,” when he eventually wrote his autobiography ( _SuperKaner: A Story About Making it_ ). 

Jonny’s face popped up on his screen, pretty close up. Only the tops of his bare shoulders were visible. He was in his kitchen. Jonny looked just like Jonny. A little bit flushed maybe, but his eyes were just as dark and intense as always. Patrick smoothed his hair self-consciously

“Hey,” he said, squirming, and set the laptop down on his coffee table. The little video showed him from just around the chest up. 

“I’m going to turn off my video,” Jonny said without preamble. “Keep yours on.” 

“But—”

“No buts. If this is what you need then it’s my rules or no go. Okay. I’m doing it now.” 

“Fine,” Patrick said, picking at a hangnail for a second. When he looked back up Jonny was gone. 

“Now slide the computer back so I can see you,” said Jonny’s voice from the computer. He sounded far away. 

“Jonny!” Patrick frowned. 

“Do it.” 

He did it. 

“Good,” Jonny said, and maybe his voice sounded just a little bit raw. “Now ask.” 

“Can I—” 

“ _May_ you.” 

“ _May_ I touch myself?” Patrick tried to sound as sincere as possible. 

He heard a sharp breath, and then: “go on, unzip your pants.”  

"I'm wearing gym shorts," Patrick said, completely petulant, but he slipped his hand into his shorts anyway.

"Kaner." Jonny’s tone brokered no argument and if Patrick wasn't hard as fuck before he was even harder now, dripping on his thigh, an insistent little dribble of precome, and fuck, he was desperate. His face felt hot, and there was sweat accumulating between his shoulder blades, slipping down his back beneath his sweatshirt.  

“Can you see ok?” Patrick asked. Helpless, stupid with it. 

“Push your shorts all the way down.” 

Patrick bit hard at his lower lip as he complied, lifting his ass up off the couch and shoving his shorts down one-handed. He settled back down, got a firm grip on himself, and started stroking up and down, twisting the head of his dick the way he liked. 

“Do you want, like, lube or something?” Jonny asked very quickly.

“No. I—” Patrick made a disgusted little sound. “I like it. Kind of rough.” 

“Oh,” Jonny breathed out, and Patrick looked plaintively at the screen, begging Jonny not to comment with his eyes. He imagined Jonny sitting in his kitchen, completely blase. Maybe drinking a cup of tea. Maybe reading something on the internet in another window. Probably not even paying very much attention. Patrick’s hand sped up. 

“Slow down,” Jonny said immediately. 

Satisfaction thrummed through him, and his dick jerked. 

“Take it easy. Be nice to yourself.” 

 _Fuck_. Patrick groaned. And Jonny, all the way in Manitoba, groaned too. Patrick was literally going to die. He had to struggle to keep it together, and squeezed hard at the base of his dick. 

“Oh my god, are you that close already?” Jonny said.

Patrick nodded, his forehead creasing up. He was chewing restlessly at his bottom lip, letting the little bit of pain hold him back. 

“Jesus christ, Kaner. Your _mouth_.” Jonny sounded totally wrecked. How hadn’t he noticed before? 

"Lemme see you,” Patrick said, before he could stop himself. He slowed his hand down again, licked his lips in a way that he hoped was pure seduction, and tilted back his head, letting his eyes fall half-shut. He rubbed his free hand across his collarbones, stretching out the neck of his hoodie. 

Jonny groaned. Success. 

“C'mon, please?” Patrick was clearly not above begging. “Can't you just. You can tilt the screen up. I just wanna see your face, Jonny."

“Next time,” Jonny gritted out. 

“There’s gonna be a next time?” Patrick knew he sounded ridiculously hopeful. 

“Yes there’s gonna be a next time.” Jonny was breathless. He was touching himself too, he had to be. Patrick could kind of even _hear_ him. “Now shut up, ok? Shut up and just—” 

“Yeah, okay.” Patrick concentrated on the screen, on what he hoped was Jonny on the other side,just as turned on as he was. Just as desperate. If only he could see; if only they could be staring right at each other. 

There was a long grunt on the other end of the line, and then, without warning the camera fired back up, and Jonny was there, his stupid, dark eyes heavy lidded and a little bit soft. He had pushed his computer screen back, and Patrick could see his chest, and God help him, the shine of semen splattered across his upper abs and towards his pecs. He must have come so hard, and fuck, he’d been so quiet. 

Patrick came all over his fist with the most upsettingly needy sound he’d ever made in his life. 

“So good,” Jonny said. “God, you’re so good.” 

“Thanks?” Patrick said, breathlessly. “I think?” 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jonny said. He was unconsciously (Patrick guessed) rubbing his own come into his skin. “That was…” 

“Yeah.” Patrick felt completely rocked. Like maybe he should go weeks without coming all the time, just to have that freighttrain-like sensation again. But he suspected with startlingly clarity that it was Jonny, not abstaining, that had shoved him headfirst into a pleasure pit he hadn't anticipated at all. 

“So, um,” Jonny started. 

“ _Thank you_ ,” Patrick cut him off. “Thank you so much.” He was fervent, it felt nearly religious. 

“You’re welcome.” Jonny squared his shoulders and sat up straight. Patrick could see him regaining control of himself, putting on that imperious front that frankly did Patrick in. “Next time we’ll do better.” 

“This was pretty great, man.” Patrick laughed a little helplessly. 

“There’s always room for improvement.” 

“Peak Tazer.” 

“Next time,” Jonny repeated. “You okay?”

“I’m great. I’m really great.” 

“Go for that swim. Wash yourself off.” Jonny gave him a filthy little smirk, and swear to God, Patrick’s dick twitched against his thigh hopefully. “Talk to you later, Peeksy.” 

Patrick grinned, full force, his most charming smile. “Count on it.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired, in part, by my current favorite post on [tumblr](http://pastabot.tumblr.com/post/119494767796/pastabot-cant-wait-to-be-13-no-rules-no).


End file.
